Thomas rolls his eyes. “You were not embarrassed. Podiums are not embarrassing—trophiesare not embarrassing.”
“Everyone thinks I can’t race you and you proved them right!”
It’s pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. No remorse, no shame. Thomas is proud of how he acted and who he is as a person. He loves winning more than family, more than his pride—hell, even more than his own morality.
It’s disgusting. “When you’re old and alone, surrounded by nothing but cold,lifelesstrophies, I want you to remember this moment.”
“Hey!” Rafael changes tactics and nudges at Julien’s shoulder instead. “I need the bathroom. Why don’t you let me up, then we can watch the stream again?”
He pushes Julien until the smaller driver practically falls into the aisle of the plane. After he lets Rafael through, Julien turns back to his brother, but Thomas is curled up in his chair again, his eyes closed like he’s already fast asleep.
GERMAN GRAND PRIX
HOCKENHEIM, GERMANY
Julien finishes fifth in Germany.
Thomas starts on pole and finishes third.
It’s so satisfying to watch him suffer through the German National Anthem from the bottom step. He barely even looks at the trophy as he stares ahead at the crowd.
Whoever said podiums aren’t embarrassing must be fuming right now. They’ll probably be even angrier when they see the footage of Julien laughing at the screen from inside the media pen.
FRENCH GRAND PRIX
LE CASTELLET, FRANCE
When they land in Marseille,Julien navigates the airport hallways with relief. It’s nice to finally see French signs after a long weekend of everything in German.
Rafael stays in step as Julien orders a rideshare. “You can share my car.”
Julien angles his phone away in a huff. “I’m not staying at the hotel this weekend. My apartment’s just over there.” He gestures in a direction, though he has no idea whether it’s correct.
“But Thomas is at the hotel.”
“Good for him.” What Julien needs is his own bed, his own car, and his own sim rig. He’s mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. This race came at the perfect time for a reset.
If Thomas wants to buy some Italian mansion and move everything there, that’s his prerogative. After boarding school, Julien is plenty happy keeping a second apartment close to home.
Rafael shuffles to a stop. “Alright, then. See you in the paddock?”
“See you Thursday.”
The rideshare driver is a grumpy old man who doesn’t believe Julien when he says he lives in the city.
Why would he lie? Does his French sound weird now?
Thomas said his Italian sounds British, but Julien thought he was just taking the piss.
Julien is dropped off at the far end of his street, despite his insistence that the narrow area is, in fact, built for cars. The wheels of his carry-on suitcase catch in the grooves of the cobblestones as he drags his luggage up the road.
His neighbors poke their nosey heads out of their opened windows and watch him pass with disdain. They’re already awake, they’ll be fine.
Julien unlocks the heavy outer door of the building, masterfully juggling his luggage into the lobby one-handed. Through another door into the courtyard and down a hallway, he holds his breath.
Oh, thank God. The elevator is working today. Julien crams himself into it and pulls the rickety gate shut.
Once he’s past the door of his apartment, Julien leaves his luggage at the entrance, falls face-first onto his bed, and takes a deep breath.
